DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 37C: Iltumar’s Folly

When everyone gathered back at the Ghostly Minstrel, they met Agnarr’s news regarding Iltumar with exasperation and impatience. They felt universally that they were facing “another Phon”, who would thank them little for trying to extricate them from a situation of their own creation.

“I’m less worried about Iltumar than about the woman who went looking for him,” Agnarr said.

“That’s true,” said Elestra (who had actually met Lavis). “I empathize with her.”

“And she shouldn’t suffer just because Iltumar is an idiot,” Tee said.

It’s not unusual – primed by published adventures, computer games, and simply practicality – for campaigns to be studded with patrons: NPCs who ask the PCs to do thing for them, usually in return for money, a favor, or some other form of remuneration. You need to hook the PCs into an adventure, and the easiest thing in the world is for an NPC to simply walk up to them and say, “I need you to go to X and do Y.” In this case, “I need you to investigate a warehouse and try to rescue Iltuamr (and Lavis).”

In fact, many campaigns are entirely structured around patronage, with either one NPC or a rotating cast of patrons cycling through to deliver episodic assignments.

Patrons can also take many forms: Shadowrun has its Mr. Johnsons. Paranoia has The Computer. You could even imagine a campaign where the PCs are Delphic Oracles, receiving their missions through divine visions.

There are ways this can go wrong, of course. One of the worst case versions is the mail carrier scenario hook, where the PCs are reduced to being mundane messengers doing boring, menial tasks. Many GMs have also experienced the potentially disastrous consequences of having a patron betray the PCs, causing a loss of trust which can permanently break patronage as a scenario hook in not only that campaign, but any other campaigns the GM might run.

(There are ways to pull off these double crosses, but that’s a topic for another time.)

But even when their patrons are playing fair and the task list is appropriately juiced with important stakes and duties that clearly only the PCs are capable of achieving, you can still reach a point where the players get fed up with a patron: Why is this guy nagging us? Why can’t he clean up his own messes? Why do we always have to do what he says?

In some cases, the solution is to up the pay. In others, it may be time to cycle in some new patrons and freshen up the premise. Or perhaps have their patron “level up” their participation, revealing some new level of the conspiracy, increasing their resources, giving them an opportunity to buy into the organization, or unlocking a new tier of targets.

This is particularly essential, of course, in an episodic campaign where you’re counting on that NPC to deliver the scenario hook each week. In a more varied campaign, the players’ interest in something getting burnt out is less of a problem: They’ll pursue a different lead. Or, in a sandbox, decide for themselves what they want to do next. When they turn down a job or duck the patron’s calls, you can just follow through on the consequences (e.g. Phon dies in a house fire) and then follow the PCs’ lead.

In the specific case of Iltumar, “the hero-worshipper who’s been following you around gets ‘kidnapped’ by cultists and needs to be rescued” was basically the endgame I’d been laying the groundwork for since introducing Iltumar at the beginning of the campaign.

If you’ve been following these campaign write-ups for a while, you’ll probably also be unsurprised to discover that I’m not actually invested in whether or not the PCs help Iltumar: If they do, things go one way. If they don’t, then Iltumar-as-chaositech-altered-cultist would be a fascinating subplot to see play out.

(As you’ll see by the end of this session, the PCs figured out an option I had never even considered.)

Not caring whether the PCs do what a patron asks them to do, of course, makes everything easier. And if your players can break the ingrained expectation of “you’re supposed to do what the NPC tells you to do” (dilemma hooks are useful for this), you can get really liberated. Now patrons aren’t a method for the GM to take control of the campaign’s agenda; they’re just another vector for information, and the players remain in charge of their destiny.

Campaign Journal: Session 37D – Running the Campaign: Losing a PC
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 37C: ILTUMAR’S FOLLY

May 9th, 2009
The 20th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

When everyone gathered back at the Ghostly Minstrel, they met Agnarr’s news regarding Iltumar with exasperation and impatience. They felt universally that they were facing “another Phon”, who would thank them little for trying to extricate them from a situation of their own creation.

“I’m less worried about Iltumar than about the woman who went looking for him,” Agnarr said.

“That’s true,” said Elestra (who had actually met Lavis). “I empathize with her.”

“And she shouldn’t suffer just because Iltumar is an idiot,” Tee said.

So they decided to check out the warehouse that Lavis had been investigating when she disappeared. But they also decided to wait until after dark: If Lavis had been caught, that was proof enough that there were prying eyes that they would be better off avoiding.

While the others kept their distance, Elestra turned into a squirrel and went scampering through the trees surrounding the warehouse. What she discovered was that the building was sealed up tight: The few windows were boarded on both the inside and the outside and the doors – although having the appearance of neglect and dilapidation – were fit tightly into their frames. There was not a single cranny or crevice anywhere on the building for her to peer through.

When she returned to the others with the news, Tor shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s just knock on the door.”

And so they did. But when they knocked on the front door, there was no answer. So Tee took a few moments to pick the lock and make sure it was safe, before stepping aside and letting Tor and Agnarr take point.

On the far side of the door they found a small room piled high with junk and refuse. The walls appeared unsound and the entire place looked abandoned… but a closer inspection revealed that the walls, like those on the outside, were without true flaw. And there was also a conspicuous absence of any door leading deeper into the building. There had to be a secret entrance hidden somewhere amidst the junk.

And so there was. Tee found a panel on the far wall, concealed behind a high pile of refuse. She also found that it was rigged to deliver a powerful electric shock when opened. She disengaged the electrical connection and signaled that it was safe for Tor to open the door.

Unfortunately, as Tor opened the door, the electrical connection Tee had disengaged swung back into place. With a sharp click the circuit was completed and Tor only barely managed to release the door before the sharp arcs of energy electrocuted him. Despite his quick reflexes, he had still been painfully scorched by the trap.

Tee started to apologize, but as the door swung open it revealed – immediately on the other side – a once-human brute, its face contorted in a rictus of pain. Four multi-jointed, bladed limbs burst from its back and its hands had been stitched into permanent fists and studded with black, chitinous spikes.

The creature’s blades and fists lashed out, but Tor’s sword was already in his hand. Nainsyr flashed in a halo of lightning, performing a nearly flawless flurry of parrying virtuosity. Only one blow, glancing off Tor’s blade, found its way through the defense, leaving the thinnest of cuts upon the knight’s cheek.

But Tee had been practicing her swordplay with Tor whenever the chance allowed, and now she tried out a few of the new tricks she had learned. Sweeping one of the brute’s many limbs aside, she plunged her sword through his chest. The blow sent it stumbling back, gurgling a thin stream of blood. Tor seized the opportunity, turning effortlessly from the defense to the attack, and swept the creautre’s head from its shoulders.

Moving farther into the partitioned warehouse, they found a storage room filled with vats of strange chemicals and mechanical detritus. None of it seemed to serve any sane or logical purpose.

Then they came to an iron door. After a cursory inspection, Tee discovered that the door had been barred from the far side. “I can pick the lock, but I don’t think I can move that bar.”

Agnarr glanced to either side. “We could chop through the walls. They’re just wood.”

But Elestra had a better solution: Laying her hand upon the door and calling upon the Spirit of the City, she felt the portal reveal itself to her. The bar flew from its grips, the tumblers of the lock spun into place, and the door swung open…

… revealing a horrific chamber.

It stunk of blood and ozone and things far worse. Large, bizarrely-shaped machines – with vats and tubes of strange alchemical liquids thrust out from them in grisly protrusions – filled the room. Spatters of dried gore could be seen everywhere. Gruesome tools were hung on racks near several stained operating tables.

Upon one of these tables, Iltumar lay unconscious. His arms rested on wooden stocks to either side of the table and the flesh of his hands had been delicately flayed open. Bent over him was a figure wrapped in robes of red silk. As the door flew open, this figure twisted to face them with an oddly alien contortion. Its face was masked with iron and strange balls of iron hovered above its shoulders.

“The Surgeon in the Shadows…?” Elestra murmured.

The figure held their gaze for only a moment, then – without ado – it raised its hand and vanished.

Only then did they become aware of the other occupants of the chamber: A stunted, hunchbacked dwarf clad in black leathers suddenly cried out. “Master! Do not abandon me! I beg you!” But he was already too late, and with a look of pure malevolence he whirled to face them, ripping a massive axe from the straps on his back. It had been outfitted with strange, mechanical protrusions which hissed slightly as he adjust his grip upon the hilt.

And from the other side of the chamber, a horribly disfigured woman sidled out form behind the banks of machinery. Her skin was a crisscrossed grid of scars and stitches, covering her entire body with a second layer of mismatched flesh. One of her arms had been replaced with a long, serrated hook formed from some chitinous, gray-black substance.

Tor stepped smoothly out of the doorway, moving off to the right to engage the dwarf. This opened a clear path for Elestra to take a shot at the behooked woman with her dragon rifle. The blast caught the woman cleanly in the chest, but scarcely staggered her. In fact, despite the scorch mark it left on her leathery second-skin, the shot’s only seeming effect was to enrage the woman and draw her ire. The woman leapt across the room with a shocking speed, and – with a gleep of concern – Elestra barely ducked out of the way of her sharp hook.

The hook buried itself deep into the frame of the door, affording Tee the opportunity to dash past the woman and come to Tor’s side.

Tor was in the process of deflecting the first swing from the dwarf’s massive axe. But as the blade slid past his face, it suddenly gave forth a blast of scorching steam. Tor stumbled back, his cheeks glistening crimson.

Before the dwarf could follow through on his first swing, however, Tee’s longsword had plunged into his side and deep into his lung. She wrenched the blade free, pulling with it gouts of pinkish tissue. The dwarf gasped for breath, and in that moment Tor’s sword caught him in the opposite side with such force that he went tumbling across the length of the room.

Tee was still in motion. Spinning from her attack on the dwarf she slid in behind the behooked woman. Agnarr had literally plunged his greatsword through the wall from the next room, catching the woman a glancing blow. Tee seized the opportunity presented to slash upward with her blade, catching one of the thick stitches on the woman’s back and ripping it apart – exposing muscle, bone, and spine.

With a silent scream of anguished pain, the woman spun towards Tee and raised her hooked arm high above her head. But Agnarr, having wrenched his blade free from the wall, came through the door and plunged his greatsword through the opened wound on her back. The blade emerged from the woman’s chest, and with a gurgling moan she sank to the floor.

LOOKING FOR LAVIS IN ALL  THE RIGHT PLACES

1 hex = 12 miles

DOWNLOAD THE MAP

Phandalin and the surrounding region of the Sword Coast have featured in three D&D adventures:

• Lost Mine of Phandelver
• Dragon of Icespire Peak
• The Shattered Obelisk

Here I’ve adapted Mike Schley’s excellent region map, featured in each of these adventures, into an accurate-but-simplified hexmap.

The reason for creating a map like this, of course, is to serve as a GM’s map while running a hexcrawl:

• The alphanumeric hex grid makes it easy to key content to the map.
• The simplified iconography makes it easier to adjudicate terrain modifiers.

For links to the original region map (including resources for creating a version you can use as a handout for your players), check the link below.

OTHER READING
Phandalin Region Map – Label Layers

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 37B: An Uneasy City

At the gates of the Necropolis, Tee stopped and spoke with the Keepers of the Veil. She inquired after records of those buried in the Necropolis, hoping that they might indicate the location of Alchestrin’s ancient tomb. The knights didn’t keep records of that sort, but they suggested that one might inquire at the Administration Building in Oldtown.

At the end of Session 36, the PCs realized that what they thought was Alchestrin’s Tomb was actually a false tomb that had been constructed from scavenged sarsen stones that bore Alchestrin’s sigil.

This left them stymied. (Which was surprising to me: I once again thought it would be obvious that the stones must have been scavenged from somewhere nearby – particularly since they had been told Alchestrin’s Tomb was in this area – and therefore all they needed to do was look around the area a little more to locate the actual tomb. But they didn’t think to do that.)

They did, as you can see here, have the idea of asking the Keepers of the Veil – an order of knights who guard the borders of the Necropolis – to see if they would have a record of the tomb.

That makes logical sense, but in this case I knew from my notes that the Keepers didn’t have those records. (I did make a Knowledge check to see if one of the knights they spoke with would just coincidentally know the location of Alchestrin’s Tomb due to their experience with the Necropolis, but they failed the check.)

So at this point we have a fairly straightforward execution of the Spectrum of GM Fiat: I could just say, “No, the Keepers don’t have those records.” But you generally want to avoid simply saying “No” if at at all possible, which means that this is a perfect opportunity for a No, but…

In fact, it’s the perfect opportunity for a diegetic No, but… I know the Keepers don’t have those records, but that such records can be found in the Administration Building. I could just tell the players that (e.g., “Elestra, you’d know that such records would typically be kept in the Administration Building”), but in this case there’s no reason that the Keepers can’t know that. (It actually makes perfect sense: Although they don’t keep these records, it’s easy to imagine why those keeping watch over the undead and other dangers of the Necropolis would need to access them and, therefore, know where to find them.) So I can simply put the No, but… into the mouths of the Keeeprs and make it a natural part of the game world and the flow of play.

Ranthir spent the morning hours at the Administration Building, seeking records of Alchestrin’s Tomb.

Unfortunately, most of that time was wasted as Ranthir was shuffled fruitlessly from one ministry to another. He eventually found his way to the Ministry of Public Works and a relatively friendly older woman who showed him to what she thought “might be the proper room”. It was stacked high with moldering stacks of yellowing, unorganized parchment. In some ways, it was Ranthir’s perfect heaven… but it still left him stymied in his search for the Tomb.

Shortly thereafter, Tee caught up with him, assessed the situation, and made a quick circuit. Leaving a few greased palms in her wake, Tee was able to secure him assistance in sorting through the papers. This sped his task somewhat, but despite the help he was no closer to finding the Tomb by the time he had to leave.

When Ranthir actually goes to the Administration Building later in the session and tries to look up the records, however, I swapped off the Spectrum of GM Fiat and turned things over to the good ol’ fictional cleromancy of the mechanics…

… and Ranthir promptly failed his skill check.

(Tee showed up later and tried to help, but after some more bad rolling, it was still a failure.)

So here we go from No, but… to No.

Of course, some might ask why I had Ranthir roll for this vital information in the first place! If you roll for getting clues like this, then you risk the roll being a failure and the PCs not getting the clue! And, in fact, this horrible disaster is exactly what has happened!

I certainly could have stayed on the Spectrum of GM Fiat and ruled that Ranthir, having gotten to the right place, would automatically find the information he was looking for. But in this case, it’s not what my notes said, so that outcome really would have been a fudge. (Don’t fudge!) More importantly, though, I don’t actually care that Ranthir missed this check. It’s not my problem. It’s the players’ problem!

Because I know that:

• the PCs don’t actually NEED to get into Alchestrin’s Tomb in order to continue making progress in the Banewarrens (so it’s not a load-bearing aspect of the scenario);
• there’s other ways for them to find Alchestrin’s Tomb (remember the Three Clue Rule); and
• there’s lots of other leads the PCs can pursue (so the campaign isn’t going to stall here).

And so this is yet another situation where I can just be okay with failure being meaningful and seeing where it will take the campaign.

Campaign Journal: Session 37C – Running the Campaign: Patron Exhaustion
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 37B: AN UNEASY CITY

May 9th, 2009
The 20th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Elestra hit the streets. Rehobath’s claiming of the “Holy Palace” had become common knowledge. It turned out that Rehobath owned legal title to the Palace, having quietly acquired the property rights six months ago. (“Sneaky bastard!” Tee said upon learning the news.)

But Elestra also learned that the Commissar wasn’t pleased with Rehobath’s maneuver, seeing it as an attempt by Rehobath to consolidate a non-religious base of power in Ptolus. Earlier that morning the warrant of arrest for Sir Kabel had been publicly annulled, a move that was commonly seen to be the Commissar sending a message to Rehobath.

While the news of Rehobath particularly caught Elestra’s attention, it wasn’t the story at the forefront of public thought: Open war had come to Tavern Row. The night before, frustrated Balacazar enforcers had encountered Killraven recruiters on the street. The confrontation had turned to blows and attracted some other low-level enforcers. In the end, nearly two dozen gang members engaged in open violence on Tavern Row before scattering in response to the City Watch.

ASKING QUESTIONS

Meanwhile, Tee had gone down to the Docks. Speaking with the Dockmaster’s staff she learned that the Freeport’s Sword was likely to dock in the early afternoon of the next day.

Ranthir spent the morning hours at the Administration Building, seeking records of Alchestrin’s Tomb.

Unfortunately, most of that time was wasted as Ranthir was shuffled fruitlessly from one ministry to another. He eventually found his way to the Ministry of Public Works and a relatively friendly older woman who showed him to what she thought “might be the proper room”. It was stacked high with moldering stacks of yellowing, unorganized parchment. In some ways, it was Ranthir’s perfect heaven… but it still left him stymied in his search for the Tomb.

Shortly thereafter, Tee caught up with him, assessed the situation, and made a quick circuit. Leaving a few greased palms in her wake, Tee was able to secure him assistance in sorting through the papers. This sped his task somewhat, but despite the help he was no closer to finding the Tomb by the time he had to leave.

THE FURTHER TROUBLES OF ILTUMAR

Agnarr had gone to the Bull and Bear with the intention of finding some armor for Seeaeti. But when he arrived he found Hirus looking pale and wearied behind the counter, with large black pools beneath his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” the barbarian asked.

“Master Agnarr!” Hirus cried. “It’s Iltumar!”

“Of course it is,” Agnarr said. “What happened?”

“He’s gone! Last night I found this note in his room.”

Thank you for everything you have done for me. I go now to live a new life with a new body. I’ll make you proud. I’ll make everyone proud.

—ILTUMAR

“I came up to the Ghostly Minstrel to see if I could find Sir Tor or Mistress Tee, but you weren’t there. Lavis was, though – that’s another lass that’s a friend of Iltumar’s. She promised to find him. And maybe she did. She sent word by messenger that she had tracked him to some warehouse in Oldtown. But I haven’t heard from her since. I don’t know what to do!”

“I’ll look into it,” Agnarr promised.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

FALSE FEARS IN WELCOMING EARS

Tor, meanwhile, had ridden up to the Holy Palace. The three-story tall walls were crafted from baroque white marble and topped with crimson-red shingles. Doors two-stories tall parted without touch to give him admittance into a wide, long entrance hall.

He sought audience with Rehobath and was quickly granted it, being ushered into a grand throne room of sorts. Although the throne itself was only of plain wood, its opulent surroundings spoke loudly to Tor’s eyes.

Rehobath looked up at him as he entered. “Sir Tor. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

Tor bowed and smiled. After congratulating Rehobath on his new abode, however, his face drew in seeming concern.

“I’m afraid I come with bad news.”

“Oh?” Rehobath said.

“Dominic is gone.”

“Dominic is… gone?”

“Yes,” Tor nodded. “He didn’t come down to join us for breakfast. When we went to his room, most of his things were gone. We don’t know where he is.”

Rehobath seemed completely baffled by the news. He questioned Tor in particular detail, but there was little more to tell (and Tor was pleased to find that he had gotten through the ordeal without ever telling an actual lie).

“I actually came to see if perhaps you had summoned him. Or if he had contacted you.”

“No,” Rehobath shook his head. “But perhaps he went to the Godskeep. You should speak with Sir Gemmell at once.”

Tor agreed and excused himself. Leaving the Holy Palace, he mounted Blue and rode straight to the Godskeep. There he found things in total disarray – knights were packing, rearranging, and generally discombobulated.

Sir Gemmell, it turned out, was less than pleased with Rehobath’s sudden (and unexpected) move to the Holy Palace. But he was faithfully gathering together the final elements of the honor guard that would serve him there. He was short on patience and seemed to care little for the whereabouts of Dominic. So Tor, after making sure that he should come to the Godskeep for his training the next day, took his leave.

TRUE REPORTS FOR UNHAPPY HEARERS

Tee had confessed to the others that she had spoken to the Commissar on the eve of Rehobath’s convocation and warned him of what was coming. For similar reasons, she felt it important that the Commissar be warned of Dominic’s denunciation of Rehobath.

Somewhat to Tee’s surprise, everyone quickly agreed that it was a good idea. So while Ranthir returned to the Administration Building (with little success) and Elestra went looking for the word on the street regarding Illadras (there wasn’t any), Tor, Agnarr, and Tee went to see the Commissar.

When they arrived at the Dalenguard, Agnarr volunteered to wait outside while the others went in to meet with him. After only the briefest of considerations, Tee and Tor agreed that was for the best.

The Commissar, looking up from various papers spread across his desk, greeted them with a small smile and a nod of his head.

After exchanging brief pleasantries, Tee got to the heart of the matter. “May we speak safely here?”

“Of course.”

At this, Tor nodded, reached up, and removed the red sash hanging from his shoulders.

The Commissar became suddenly solemn. “I..  see.”

“We’re here to talk about Rehobath,” Tee said.

“So I would assume,” the Commissar said.

Having made their loyalties as clear to the Commissar as possible, Tor and Tee quickly went over the details of Sir Kabel’s plan. The Commissar said he had been aware of the approach of the new Silver Fatar from Seyrun, but he was surprised to learn that Dominic planned to denounce Rehobath.

“I don’t think Dominic has ever supported Rehobath,” Tee said. “He had no idea what was going to happen at the convocation.”

“Sir Kabel’s hope – our hope – is that, once the Silver Fatar arrives, this matter can be decisively resolved.”

“I would frown upon anyone seeking to take the law into their own hands,” the Commissar said. “We have had enough bloodshed in the streets of Ptolus of late.”

“Sir Kabel believes that – once the Silver Fatar arrives – many of those loyal to Rehobath will… see the error of their ways,” Tor said. “If Sir Kabel’s strength is large enough, I think bloodshed can be avoided.”

“Are you aware that Rehobath is hiring mercenaries?” the Commissar asked pointedly.

“Mercenaries?” Tee asked.

“And barracking them in the ‘Holy Palace’,” he said. At this revelation the room filled with silence. The Commissar let it rest there for a moment before continuing. “I want no disturbance of the peace. That, above all, is my duty.”

When they left the Commissar’s office, they found Agnarr dicing with the two guards who were supposed to be on duty outside. Although their meeting had been short, Agnarr had already managed to lose 23 gold pieces. He was in good spirits about it, though. He was beginning to truly enjoy the riches they were earning (or, at least, finding) here in Ptolus.

As they were moving off, however, Tee’s sharp ears caught the guards chatting amiably about what to do with their winnings that evening.

“With this run of luck we should head to the White House.”

“I dunno. There aren’t any dumb barbarians at the White House.”

Running the Campaign: No, But… – Campaign Journal: Session 37C
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index